


Struck By Flold

by truethingsproved



Series: Talk revolution to me, baby. [13]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, Sickfic, general cuteness though!!! lots of cuddling!, if flold isn't an actual word it should be, they get sick and there's puking it's gross :c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:59:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truethingsproved/pseuds/truethingsproved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since Enjolras’ return from Washington they’ve fought once, become Facebook official (after which Courfeyrac bought a cake and brought it to the next meeting, the precise shade of Facebook blue with “In A Relationship” on it; Enjolras immediately changed his relationship status to “widowed” when Grantaire laughed too hard and helped himself to a piece, only to let Grantaire distract him through the rest of the meeting with little displays of affection), and now, apparently, Grantaire is able to convince Enjolras to take his allergy medication. Which is always a battle that even Combeferre can’t win.</p><p>And Joly is happy for them, really, but even if allergies aren’t contagious, if Enjolras sneezes near him one more time Joly’s coming to meetings in the giant plague-doctor-mask-thing Bahorel bought him as a joke when he’d declared his major as pre-med.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Struck By Flold

Spring is a menace because spring means allergies and allergies means everyone sneezing. Spring is also a blessing because there are few people in the world cuter than Enjolras when sneezing.

He never sneezes just once, he sneezes _over_ and _over_ again, at least three sneezes at a time. And he sneezes violently, stumbling back and dropping whatever he’d been holding, before looking up and scowling with a red nose and watering eyes and quite frankly the most adorable pout Joly’s ever seen, and Joly lives with Musichetta and Bossuet. There’s a lot of ‘adorable’ to go around.

But he does have to keep repeating _it’s just allergies and allergies aren’t contagious_ to himself every time Enjolras sneezes (and it even sounds cute, damn it, high pitched and squeaky, though the cutest thing is the fond smile Grantaire shoots him while handing over a couple of tissues).

Musichetta is sitting at a table with Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Jehan, Combeferre, and Cosette, arguing passionately about something or another, while Bossuet and Joly are curled up together in an armchair across from Eponine and Grantaire, who are passing a scone back and forth and taking bets on who’s going to resort to blows first (Grantaire has ten bucks on Enjolras,  whereas Eponine has bet on Cosette).

Finally, Enjolras sits back after his fifth bout of sneezing and covers his face with his hands. “I think we should revisit this idea later,” he says, sounding exhausted, and Grantaire swings himself off the table he’s sitting on to run a hand through Enjolras’ hair and grin cheekily at the others.

“Fascinating as it is to listen to you all talking politics, I’m making him take his allergy meds and a nap now,” he says, sliding his hand into Enjolras’; the blond man tries to protest but only succeeds in sneezing more, so violently he almost falls backwards in his chair, before grunting and standing. Grantaire presses a quick kiss to his temple, and the smallest of smiles stretches across Enjolras’ face, and then they’re heading out of the Musain, Enjolras sneezing again and Grantaire’s laugh booming.

Since Enjolras’ return from Washington they’ve fought once, become Facebook official (after which Courfeyrac bought a cake and brought it to the next meeting, the precise shade of Facebook blue with “In A Relationship” on it; Enjolras immediately changed his relationship status to “widowed” when Grantaire laughed too hard and helped himself to a piece, only to let Grantaire distract him through the rest of the meeting with little displays of affection), and now, apparently, Grantaire is able to convince Enjolras to take his allergy medication. Which is always a battle that even Combeferre can’t win.

And Joly is happy for them, really, but even if allergies aren’t contagious, if Enjolras sneezes near him one more time Joly’s coming to meetings in the giant plague-doctor-mask-thing Bahorel bought him as a joke when he’d declared his major as pre-med.

At his side, Bossuet nestles closer to him, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck, and Joly sighs happily, all thoughts of allergies vanished.

\------

Musichetta finishes teaching her last piano lesson of the night around seven-thirty, while Joly is making dinner and Bossuet is taking a quick nap. He’s been tired lately—probably from all the schoolwork he’s been doing, because he’s so meticulous about getting everything done immediately because if he doesn’t, Lord knows he’ll forget and it won’t get done and and and—and so they don’t wake him until Joly’s finished making dinner.

Joly sneezed twice while cooking and his stomach has been doing some strange things that feel a lot like somersaults and he’s convinced he’s got some unholy cold-and-flu combination, and while they wait for the macaroni and cheese to finish baking Musichetta kisses him insistently, as if she can drive away any sickness with tongue and teeth and lips and those beautiful hands curled around his.

To be quite honest she probably could; Joly can’t help but smile under her lips and concede that _maybe_ he’s not carrying some horrific virus, but how can she be so sure, maybe she should kiss him again just to check one more time—

She does, again and again, until the macaroni and cheese is starting to burn because Musichetta’s got Joly pressed against the counter and clinging to her for dear life while she kisses him senseless. Bossuet wakes up a few minutes after that and he comes out of the bedroom looking a little pale, but otherwise he seems fine. They eat together while Musichetta tells them about one student’s mother sitting in on a lesson simply because she was amazed at her child learning piano so well, and Bossuet talks about math and the others zone out a bit.

The dishes are forgotten in favor of drinking wine in the bathtub and even the wine is forgotten once they’re all down to skin on skin, separated only by water.

\------

Combeferre, Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Cosette drop by their apartment that Friday after classes to finish the conversation they’ve been having. The others will come by as their classes end, but until then, they’re able to simply sit and talk.

They’ve done some good. That can’t be denied. They’ve done some good but they’re getting so seriously held back by all the red tape—fill this out, sign this here, promise not to make _too_ much of a fuss—that it’s starting to seem like they’re not going to be able to do any more. And “maybe we’ll get this done” isn’t good enough for Enjolras.

It’s not good enough for any of them, but they don’t lose sleep over it like Enjolras does; he’s an absolute mess, sniffling and coughing into a balled-up tissue. He’s been resisting taking his allergy medication because it makes him drowsy and he can’t afford to be drowsy, but it’s only a matter of time before Grantaire and Eponine wear him down. His nose is red and running, his eyes are bloodshot, and he can’t go more than a few words without sniffling.

Joly sits on the other side of the room as a precaution, perched in Bossuet’s lap. He prefers sitting with Musichetta there as well, but as per usual she’s tangled up right in the middle of this conversation. Instead, Bossuet is playing with Joly’s hair while Joly presses kisses along his jaw.

There’s a lull in the conversation, though, that distracts them, and they look over only to see Enjolras perched on the arm of the sofa, his fingers steepled and pressed against his mouth. Cosette looks concerned, Combeferre looks generally at ease, and Courfeyrac looks nervous. Musichetta, though—

—Musichetta looks proud.

“I think,” he says, very slowly, “we should separate ourselves from the school. In all honesty I’m wondering if maybe we should separate ourselves from Amnesty entirely.” There’s another pause, and then, very softly, “This could get genuinely dangerous. We’re not going to get any slack from the cops if we’re not affiliated with the school. It’s not like we got much to begin with, but. Beyond that, the police aren’t very fond of us as is, and I’m starting to think I’m not going to graduate without an arrest record. If you’re not comfortable with this, if this will put scholarships or your degrees at risk, not to mention the danger of violence at any of these protests or demonstrations—”

The door opens and Eponine and Grantaire walk in with Marius and Jehan (Feuilly’s at work, and Bahorel’s in a night class); everyone freezes, which, in turn, makes them stop. Only Grantaire continues, walking to stand behind Enjolras and rest both hands on his shoulders.

“What’s going on?” he asks conversationally, though his smile is tight, and Enjolras bites his lip and tips his head back.

He clears his throat, sniffles twice, then turns away to sneeze. Grantaire doesn’t move. Musichetta supplies, “Things might get ugly,” and Enjolras shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “Things _are_ going to get ugly.” His voice is clear but his eyes are worried, and Grantaire just stares down at him, his expression unreadable.

Then, slowly, he leans down to press his mouth to Enjolras’ (even though he’d just been _sneezing,_ and Joly admires Grantaire’s devotion, he really does, but that’s just disgusting), before sliding one hand to curve around the back of his skull, fingers tangling in his hair.

“Okay,” he says, simply, and Enjolras is visibly relieved.

\------

When the others arrive they all react similarly. Joly and Bossuet curl up with Musichetta on the couch so Mairus and Cosette can take one of the armchairs; Jehan and Courfeyrac take a seat on the floor, Eponine and Combeferre take the other armchair, and Grantaire and Enjolras head to the kitchen to make dinner for them all.

Joly’s sniffling again, and there’s a strange knotted feeling in his stomach, and Musichetta seems less inclined to believe that he’s carrying the same unholy flu-cold hybrid he had last night. (“You didn’t have anything last night, baby.” “You don’t know that! You don’t know my life!” “Yes I do, baby.”) He turns to Bossuet to back him up and Bossuet just smiles tiredly and shakes his head, muttering about his ridiculous loves and how lucky he is to have them.

They don’t think anything of it when he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, leaving Joly and Musichetta to squabble fondly amongst themselves, though everyone in the apartment hears it when he starts to retch.

Almost before any of them have registered what’s happened Joly’s in the bathroom, having climbed over the back of the couch, fallen, and half-crawled, half-bolted to the bathroom, where Bossuet’s curled up apologetically around the toilet.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he says, trying and failing to sound unbothered by the sheer amount of vomiting he’s doing, and Musichetta steps carefully around them both to sit behind Bossuet as Joly shoos the others away and closes the door. “I can’t be sick, that’s Joly’s department.”

“Ha ha,” Joly deadpans, but he’s wetting a washcloth to press to Bossuet’s forehead and Musichetta’s rubbing his shoulders soothingly. Neither of them flinches back when he leans forward and starts to dry heave. Instead, they exchange a single look— _I told you you didn’t have it_ from Musichetta and _yeah, whatever_ from Joly.

They go out in shifts to eat dinner, but only after putting Bossuet to bed and wrapping his shivering frame in blankets and sweaters and, at one point, Jehan.

The others trickle out as the night wears on, but Bossuet is unaware, his head in Joly’s lap and Musichetta curled around him.

\------

“It’s probably contagious,” Bossuet protests.

“Yes, it is.” Musichetta nods in agreement, sounding serene.

“You should really not be this close to me.” His voice is still soft from sleep, and he groans before remembering where he is, that his head is in Joly’s lap, one hand curled around his thigh. Joly’s got his fingers dancing along the back of his head rhythmically, in the way that he’s done since they first got together when they were freshmen in high school and Bossuet was on the football team and kept landing in the hospital for various injuries (he was on a first-name basis with the entire ER staff by seventeen). He’s got a book balanced in his other hand and a pen clenched between his teeth, though he grins around the pen when he looks down at Bossuet.

“Probably not,” he concurs when he spits the pen out and leans forward to take Bossuet’s hand and press his lips to his fingers.

“You’ll get sick.”

“Definitely,” Musichetta adds sweetly, pressing kiss after kiss to his bare shoulder.

Joly’s smile is gentle but unwavering. “You’re just going to have to take care of us,” he says, and Bossuet simply stares up at him lovingly, wrapping his free hand around Musichetta’s.

\------

Joly _wants_ to say that by some miracle, Bossuet’s flu-cold (“flold”, they’ve been calling it, and Bossuet would laugh at that if he wasn’t shivering so much) is quick and doesn’t impact any of them. If Joly were telling this story, the flold would stay with Bossuet for only a day or so, would pass as suddenly as it came, and they would spend the rest of their weekend in a tangle of sweaty, naked limbs and breathy laughs.

But for once, Joly’s premonition of illness is correct, and within twenty-four hours, he’s out.

He ends up vomiting into a garbage can while Bossuet empties his stomach for the umpteenth time, and Musichetta, because she’s actually indestructible and impervious to all things which would fell mere mortals and lesser creations, cheerfully mops her boys up and puts them both to bed. (Joly tries to crawl away four times to do homework until Musichetta crawls into bed next to them and reads aloud from Joly’s textbook.)

Joly’s flold only lasts a bit over twenty-four hours, though Bossuet is ill for about five days. Once they’re recovered they go on campus and simply lie on the grass next to the science center, staring up at the sky and very seriously considering never going back into their apartment, considering how germ-filled it must be. When Joly opens his mouth to break the silence Musichetta cuts in almost immediately, “We’re not burning the sheets.”

\------

The first evening they’re all feeling well enough they eat a massive dinner and spend the rest of the night in the bath and then in bed, going through almost an entire bottle of red wine and knocking the bed against the wall loudly enough that they wake their neighbors.

Joly really can’t be bothered to feel bad for this, not with Bossuet’s lips pressed firmly against his and his hands anchored tightly around Musichetta’s hips.

They stay like that until sunrise, lazy kisses and touches and laughter, and sleep well into the afternoon, classes be damned.

\------

Their absence is noted at the next meeting. Enjolras seems almost nervous to have this talk without Musichetta there, but he speaks anyway, Combeferre standing at his right and Courfeyrac standing at his left.

“I think we’re coming to the end of the good we can do in this group,” he says softly, but they all hear him. They’re all listening. They couldn’t stop listening even if they wanted to. “The school isn’t supportive of any movements we wish to make that will threaten or challenge any form of oppression which benefits them. We want to challenge tuition hikes, we’re reminded that our goal isn’t to challenge tuition hikes. We want to challenge corruption in the economy, they tell us to write a letter that they never send.

“I’m not sure if continuing to work with Amnesty is going to help us, either,” he adds. From his usual space on the couch Grantaire just nods, the movement barely perceptible. Eponine is grinning, looking proud of him, and he can’t help but smile back.

This is just another speech, just another speech given to the people who matter most.

“There will absolutely be consequences to this. I don’t know what yet. But I think—” Here he pauses, turns to Combeferre, then Courfeyrac, then clears his throat. “We think that we’ve spent enough time toeing the line and in doing so upholding the institutions that support what we’re trying to take down.

“I don’t expect any of you to stay if you’re not comfortable doing so. I won’t blame any of you if you want to leave, and it won’t have any impact on how I think of you. I don’t even want an answer now.”

“I’m with you,” Eponine says, and Grantaire nods, then Cosette and Marius, then Bahorel, then Jehan, then Feuilly.

Enjolras’ smile could light the Musain.

**Author's Note:**

> oh god I am SO sorry this took so long to get to you D: between school and everything else I just haven't had the time or the energy to write in this 'verse but LOOK! UPDATE!!! Thank you so, so much for being so patient with me. You are all endlessly amazing and incredible and I could not get this done without your support and patience and kindness.
> 
> and omg let's talk art because holy shit this is GORGEOUS
> 
> -http://littlewadoo.tumblr.com/post/48371522559/i-dont-think-i-need-to-introduce-the-fantastic  
> -http://littleperson1832.tumblr.com/post/47684801473/so-this-is-what-i-do-instead-of-outlining-boring  
> -http://wombats-echo.tumblr.com/post/47235554004/some-talk-revolution-to-me-baby-ish-fanart-i-did  
> -http://caroll-in.tumblr.com/post/47194305975/trtmbgirls  
> -http://revolutionaryboyfriends.tumblr.com/post/46970038368/people-only-love-me-when-theyre-trying-to-fix-me  
> -http://yet-intrepid.tumblr.com/post/46841717565  
> -http://heypetitly.tumblr.com/post/46653202198/look-i-made-fanart-for-talk-revolutionary-to-me  
> -http://wholelottaductape.tumblr.com/post/46537179342/yay-this-one-turned-out-completely-different-than  
> -http://theangelofmusics-barricade.tumblr.com/post/46553081045/for-talk-revolution-to-me-baby-i-couldnt-get  
> -http://pyladesisdrunk.tumblr.com/post/46484083379/ok-so-sometimes-i-get-bored-in-french-class-and-i
> 
> and a mix oh gosh there's a mix c:
> 
> -http://molesque.tumblr.com/post/48337110401/maybe-shes-getting-tired-of-excess-a-talk
> 
> endless forever thank yous to Chesh, Elizabeth, Emily, Lily, and Kaitlyn for their help. As always, they're flawless and wonderful and incredible. This update is for tumblr user jen-suis, who is amazing and fantastic. <3
> 
> If you want to make graphics or art or mixes or anything, please feel free to drop by and let me know! I track my url (duskjolras) and the title of the series on Tumblr, and you're always welcome to drop by just to say hey!
> 
> Thank you again so much for being patient. You are so wonderful and lovely and I adore you <3


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